


Dishes

by cosmicGeologist



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, One Shot, POV First Person, Uncanny Valley, Unhealthy Relationships, i tried for an unsettling vibe anyway, ish???? maybe????, murder family discussing their murderous ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 18:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16269653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicGeologist/pseuds/cosmicGeologist
Summary: A conversation between mother and child with no undertones at all. Nope. Everything is fine.





	Dishes

“Sweetheart, be a dear and wash the dishes, won’t you?” my mother simpered, voice high pitched and the perfect level of dramatic to further convey her airy facade as she stepped into the Midwest-Home-magazine worthy living room I was studying in. 

“Ms.Gledhill is coming over this evening with her husband and they deserve to see the house at its best. We need to make a good impression after all.” 

As she spoke she hid her demure smile behind her hand, as if she had made a joke instead of delivering my orders hiding in powdered sugar. Her nails were manicured, painted the dark reddish-brown my mother loved, and were filed to a point like elegant claws. 

I responded in kind, mimicking her mask of airheaded delight, and chirping “Of course, Mother”. 

I set my Humanities textbook on the low table in front of the couch, next to the small stack of composition books where I kept my notes. I stood, attempting to ooze the oblivious pretentiousness my mother produced from every pore with seemingly no effort as I looked up at her, constructing an expression as naively earnest as I could muster, and continued. 

“She and her husband are such upstanding, nice people. Is there anything else I can do to help prepare for when they get here?”

She beamed at me guilelessly, and replied “Of course, dear! If you would, tidy the game room please? And the play things really must be cleaned”. 

She paused, her perpetual smile in place and conventionally shiny, but with her perfectly painted eyes focusing on something in the middle distance. 

“Last time we had guests, it really was quite the mess. It took ages before the house was presentable enough to have people come visit again. Although, the red really was such a lovely shade...” She trailed off, the sentence hanging in the air like flowery perfume attempting to cover the smell of something dead and rotting.

She abruptly focused on my face and blinked hard, as if coming out of a daze or waking up from a dream. She then put a hand on my shoulder, nails digging deliberately into the soft fleshy spaces in between the bones, purposely painful but careful not to break skin. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. You really are such a help around the house,” she replied by rote with her eyes unblinkingly and unwaveringly staring into my own as if she was looking into my mind and correcting the mistakes in my thoughts. 

She then released my shoulder and swept away before I could respond, calling to mind the intangible aura of swirling skirts and barbed niceties summoned by upright and proper women everywhere, despite her dress having a yoke-waisted skirt. I watched her straighten the pictures that hung already level in the hallway as she went, before she disappeared up the stairs with a click of heels coinciding with her every step on the spotless hardwood floors.

I absently massaged the spot her nails had pressed into my shoulder as I exited the living room and entered the hallway after her, turning and walking into the kitchen on my way to the sink. I stepped carefully over the ancient dog that rested its old, but well-cared for dog bed next to the peninsula. It ignored my intrusion of its personal space and continued it’s imitation of distant thunder, hind legs occasionally twitching but their owner unwilling to actually put forth the effort to chase whatever it was dreaming of. Although I personally felt the mess it caused wasn’t worth the added layer normality it created in the house, my mother had used the ploy for years to make people more comfortable and the idea that she would change something because of my opinion of it was laughable at best and suicidal at worst.

The twitching lightly scratched at the tile floors, making a soft noise that was oddly soothing and combined with the whirr of the air conditioner to create a calm background hum. I almost hated to break into the ambiance with the clink of glass on glass and metal, but guests coming provided enough incentive to make it worth the disturbance. After all, I thought as I rinsed the blood from my mother’s favorite butcher’s knife, if I performed my orders correctly I might be able to assist Mother while she played with the guests before it was time for their autopsy.


End file.
